Tomas is on the doorstep holding a bunch of yellow roses. I usher him inside and put the flowers in a vase; they are cheerful. Full of hope, like spring.

We sit opposite one another in the morning room. He looks awkward and uneasy in the armchair. His hair is neatly slicked back, glasses cleaned, his best jacket on.

‘Thank you for coming to see me. It’s kind of you.’

‘I wanted to come as soon as I heard. But it’s hard. Long shifts, you know. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.’

He uses the same soft, low voice as everyone else. It’s unbearable, suffocating. Like air turned to water, it’s hard to breathe.

‘Such a fuckin’ awful thing to happen. What a shitty waste,’ he speaks harshly, through gritted teeth. The change of tone, the swear words make me smile.

‘Would you like coffee?’

‘Please.’

I ring the bell and ask Ingrid to bring us a fresh pot. She looks from Tomas to me and back again. Is that a hint of surprise in her eyes? Perhaps I should get Tomas to visit more often.

‘You look worn out. And thin,’ he says, studying me.

‘It’s hard to sleep. And eat.’

‘Of course. How’s your mother.’

‘Inconsolable. She’s gone to stay with her sister in Weimar for a while. I’ve got the pleasure of my Oma, Vati’s mother, coming to look after me. She’s awfully strict.’

‘I’m so sorry, Hetty. Truly. If, you know, there’s anything I can do. Just ask, yeah?’

So everyone says. But really, what can they do?

‘It’s very nice to see you, Tomas,’ I say, meaning it.

*

After Oma has arrived and settled down for her afternoon nap, I change into my BDM uniform. My palms are clammy and I fumble at my buttons with clumsy fingers. I know I shouldn’t go, but the desperate need is too strong. Karl’s voice sounds loud and clear in my brain. Stay away from him, Little Mouse. Stay away.

‘It’s fine, Karl,’ I say out loud to the empty room. ‘He’s as good as gone anyway. This will be the last time I see him. I promise.’

I head towards Walter’s uncle’s warehouse. The Brühl is packed with people heading back to work after lunch. Grand stone buildings run the length of the street in this, the heart of the Jewish business quarter. Or at least, it had been. Many of the department stores, fur businesses and law offices have changed hands now. The street is becoming Aryanised. Walter’s uncle’s firm, Keller & Co, Furriers, est. 1878, stands at number 24, and is one of the few still run by its Jewish owners.

I stand on the opposite pavement and watch people walking back and forth in front of the double doors to the building. I recognise no one. I cross the street and try turning the iron handle. It’s locked. Peering through the glass, I see a tiled passageway running straight towards the back of the building. I can just make out the shape of the iron cage of a lift at the end. There are no lights on. All looks deserted.